


Road Less Traveled

by one_starry_knight



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: mute character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 15:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17880539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_starry_knight/pseuds/one_starry_knight
Summary: What is the Dragonborn meant to do if he's unable to use the Voice? If he cannot shout, then how will he ever reach his destiny? A High Elf, Gudbrandr, finds himself in just such a situation.





	Road Less Traveled

Mute.

 

The Greybeards glanced to one another quietly as a look of concern spread across their faces. This man was  _ mute _ .

 

Gudbrandr observed the others silently, as he tended to do, rather unphased by their disbelief. All too often people were surprised by his lack of voice. And he was all too used to it. It didn’t change his life much, being mute. The people of his village understood sign and he’d rarely traveled out of his village anyway. That is, until he had to make a trip to Cyrodiil a few months ago.

 

Gudbrandr had traveled to the Imperial City to meet with a family friend, one who knew the details of the murder of his father. He had only been a young boy when he’d lost his father, but it haunted him constantly. He needed to know the truth.

As he’d returned from his trip to gather information, he’d been caught up in an Imperial raid on a Stormcloak camp. It wasn’t his intention to wander into the camp, but that’s exactly where he’d found himself that night, caught between the wild, angry warcries of rebel forces and the forceful, yet calculated orders of the military.

They bound his hands. He couldn’t sign.

So he sat in the back of the carriage in exasperated silence and occasionally clicked his tongue thoughtfully as he wondered just what kind of punishment one faces for a crime not committed.

Death. Death was the punishment.

When the carriages pulled into Helgen, he listened nervously as the rebel seated in front of him stated that they were all headed for execution. To die for committing no crime in the company of lawless rebels, as if he were one himself, it was a nightmare scenario. Yet, as the carriages pulled to a stop and the executioner walked into view, the realization that he wasn’t dreaming, this wasn’t a nightmare, and that he was on his way to his death made his heart race.

There was no point in giving into fear, he thought. As he stepped off the carriage, he straightened his back, calmed his breathing, and put on a look of determination. At the very least, he was going to make sure no one could say he went to his death fearful.

When asked his name, the large Altmeri man simply looked down at the soldier, his gaze firm. The soldier asked again. With a blink, Gudbrandr’s gaze remained locked onto his captor. Another soldier, a lady, stepped up.

“If you do not speak, we will have you executed first. Your name. Now.” She demanded.

His hands were bound, he could not sign properly, but it was worth a shot. He lifted his hands and made an attempt at signing  _ “I am mute” _ along with his name. The signs were jumbled, but their intent was clear enough to the first soldier.

“Captain, I believe this man cannot speak. He doesn’t seem to be a member of the rebellion. What should we do with him?” The brunette Legionnaire asked as his concerned gaze met his superior’s.

With a wave of her hand, the captain ordered, “He goes, too. Now let’s get moving.” She turned and moved on, walking to the front of the group of men to be executed.

The brunette Legionnaire locked eyes with Gudbrandr once more, a seemingly pained look on his face. “I’m sorry. We’ll make sure your remains are returned to the Summerset Isles.”

Gudbrandr snorts. He hasn’t been to the Summerset Isles since he was a young boy. He’s almost certain he has no family left there. His family is here in Skyrim. His adoptive family at least. He sighs as he thinks of how his adoptive parents and siblings will react to hearing that he’s been executed. Executed for nothing, no less. His mother will be heartbroken, he’s sure. She’s a tough, old Nord, but he is her oldest, her first child. He may not be hers by blood, but he’s hers all the same. She’ll certainly be devastated.

He stood to the side and watched the first rebel be executed; a loud man, one who had the worst attitude towards everyone even as his head was on the block. What a nuisance.

“Next, the High Elf!”

Gudbrandr kept his confident posture as he approached the block and kept his determined expression even as the blood soaked stone met the side of his face. He’d take his death with strength. At least he could try to make his family proud by embracing the strength of the Nords he’d been raised by. If only he’d fallen in battle instead. He’d always been told Sovngarde was only for Nords, but he had hoped that perhaps if he fought hard enough Shor would make an exception.

The next several hours were a blur from there. He hadn’t been executed, and perhaps he should have been thankful, yet still facing near death at the claws of a dragon wasn’t exactly how he’d hoped he’d spend his time after being freed. He’d made his escape with the brunette Legionnaire, whose name was Hadvar as he’d later learn.

The next few days Gudbrandr listened in annoyance as everyone he met raved about the dragon attack. He had been there. He had nearly died. The people seemed so taken with this almost impossible story of a dragon appearing and slaughtering a small village as if it were no more than a fairytale. But it was all too real.

Things happened quickly, too quickly, it almost seemed as if the last week hadn’t actually happened. It felt as though it was some wild dream from which Gudbrandr couldn’t wake. He’d met with the Jarl of Whiterun, delved into some murky barrow to find an artifact that probably was useless, gone with the Jarl’s small troop of soldiers to defend the keep, fought another dragon. It was like it was leading up to some ridiculous legend.

And it was.

 

The Greybeards moved closer to Gudbrandr, looking him over and sharing curious glances. He was Dragonborn, the hero of legend who could use the power of the Voice to defeat a dragon named Alduin, who was bent on destroying the world.

 

 Except he couldn’t use the Voice.

**Author's Note:**

> So in one of my Skyrim playthroughs I decided to see how far you can actually get in the game without ever shouting. The way this translates into my character's story is, you guessed it, he's mute. I felt it'd be interesting to write and it'd help me to step out of my comfort zone to learn how to write characters that don't speak.


End file.
